The Case of the Straying Sister
by janiejanine
Summary: Fenris is searching for his long-lost sibling. Garrett Hawke, P.I., is on the case. Film noir AU.


Kirkwall was suffering from a disappointing lack of crime.

My dingy office had been empty for the past couple of days. Clean streets were great and all, but a man's got to eat, and I was broke. Hell of a time for the thugs and goons to make themselves scarce.

My mother told me to be careful what I wished for. She was about to be proved right. My door opened and in walked Trouble with a capital T.

His slim-fitting black suit draped perfectly over a body that would make a bishop blush. He looked too young for his shock of white hair. As my eyes traveled downward, my attention was arrested by the dozens of thin silver lines that curled over his hands and neck to disappear into his sleeves.

"I need your help," he said. His voice was surprisingly guttural for someone so slight.

"What do you need, Mr...?"

"Fenris."

"Mr. Fenris." I shook two cigarettes out of the deck and stuck them in my mouth. With the flick of a match, I lit them and offered him one.

He took it and puffed a little before speaking. "I'm looking for my sister. Her name is Varania. I heard she was in the city, but I don't know where."

His cool, direct stare made me feel a little off-kilter. I'd never seen such intense green eyes before. "Do you have any other family?" I asked.

"No. We...lost touch. A long time ago."

"Tell me about her."

He dug into the pocket of his jacket and produced an old, worn photo, with a cross-section of creases from constant folding. It showed a young girl with vibrant red hair and her brother's startling green eyes.

"I haven't seen her in years," he said. "This is what she looked like then. I don't really know anything else about her." He looked almost embarrassed.

I examined the photo. There wasn't much to go on, but those eyes were distinctive, not to mention that hair. Anyone who saw her would remember her. It was enough.

"What's in it for me?" I asked.

He named a figure that made my eyebrows shoot up. "That's nice sugar," I said. "I'll take it."

"Good." He rose and handed me a card. "I can be reached here. Contact me as soon as you have any information."

He strode towards the door and I hung back to appreciate the view. Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave.

This week was looking up.

* * *

I stuck my head out the door into the front office, where my secretary did...whatever it was that she did.

I'd picked her up fresh from Miss Marethari's Secretarial College a few years ago. Nice kid, even if she was the only person I'd ever met capable of scorching coffee. Say what you want about her, she was always enthusiastic, and most important, willing to work cheap.

"Merrill, I need you to ring up Varric and tell him to meet me at the usual place. I'll be out for the rest of the afternoon."

"Yes, Mr. Hawke," she said brightly. "Oh, that nice man from the collections agency stopped by. I told him you were dead, like you said, but he said he'd come back tomorrow anyway."

"Thanks." I clapped my hat on my head and stepped out into Lowtown.

* * *

The stench of cheap liquor, piss, and unwashed bodies hit me the second I entered the Hanged Man. Cigarette smoke swirled and mixed with dust motes in the stale air. A tired-looking barman plunked away at a scarred piano, the music occasionally accompanied by the tinkle of broken glass. I paused to remove my hat and let my eyes adjust, then began to wind my way through the maze of tables.

"Garrett!" A gorgeous woman, dressed in a lot of gold jewelry and not much else, pushed away from the bar and sauntered towards me. She draped herself over my shoulders in a cloud of spicy perfume and murmured into my ear. "Where have you _been_, sweet thing?"

"Come off it, Izzy," I said with a grin, disentangling myself. "You haven't missed me a damn bit."

"Maybe. Come on, you can buy me a stiff one. Or a drink." Eyes the color of hot tea glinted as she chuckled at her own joke.

"Next time, huh? I'm here to see the man up top," I said.

"Oh." She shrugged. "Your loss. He's where he always is. Bullshitting."

I pecked her on the cheek. "Thanks, doll."

"Come by anytime," she said, smiling suggestively. "I'll show you my Orlesian etchings."

I found Varric in his corner booth, holding court. There were about five girls with him, all lookers, all hanging on to his every word. His arms were slung casually over the two prettiest ones, a blonde and a brunette. "No shit, there I was," he was saying, somehow managing to gesture with the hand holding his cigarette without setting the brunette's hair on fire.

I approached the booth, and the big palooka standing guard gave me the stinkeye. "Ser?" he said, to catch Varric's attention, and jerked his chin in my direction.

Varric saw me and sat up. He handed a wad of bills to the blonde. "Why don't you go get yourselves a drink?"

The girls giggled and wandered off towards the bar. The guard raised an eyebrow.

Varric made a shooing motion. "Go on, scram. I'm in good hands."

The guard nodded and moved away. I slid into the booth. The hand holding my hat wavered awkwardly for a minute, deciding whether it would be worth it to place it on the sticky tabletop. Eventually I compromised and wedged it into the small gap between my thigh and the wall.

"Stocking up?" I said, with a nod toward the girls.

"Nah. There's only one lady for me. But a man's got to keep up appearances. You know how it is."

"Uh-huh. How is Bianca?"

"More beautiful every day. Drink?"

I winced. "No, thanks."

"Come on, Hawke. A drink won't kill you."

"The drinks here might."

"Suit yourself. Me, I think the rat shit just adds a certain something." He tapped his cigarette into the ashtray and leaned back. "So. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a girl. Name's Varania. New to the city." I pulled out the photo Fenris had given me and pushed it across the table. "This is her."

He gave an appreciative whistle. "Hello, gorgeous."

"Look familiar?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I'd remember her." He stared speculatively at the ceiling and mulled over the possibilities. "So what's her story? Runaway wife? Secret inheritance? Kidnapped by gangsters?"

"Close. Long-lost brother."

"Nice." He studied the photo, committing it to memory. "I'll put out some feelers."

"Your generosity is always appreciated."

"Not so generous. You know my price."

"You'll get the whole story when it's over." I shook my head. "So much for client confidentiality."

"Relax, Nervous Nellie. I'll change all the names."

"If you don't, it's my ass on the line."

"I know." He snapped his fingers, and the guard lumbered back towards the table. I acknowledged the dismissal and left to take the air.


End file.
